


By Odin's Beard

by amani101



Series: Seeking Chaos [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: AUish, Avengers is totally a Guild name, BAMF!Loki, BAMF!Natasha Romanov, BAMF!Tony Stark, Boss Fights, Butchering of MCU lore, Butchering of Mythology in general, Butchering of Norse Mythology, Captain America 2 mish-mash, F/M, FrostIron - Freeform, Gen, Influenced by Sword Art Online anime, Iron Man 3 mish-mash, M/M, Quest fic, Slow Build, Violence and Mele, cliche tropes, divergence from Thor 2, inappropriate language, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 06:47:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amani101/pseuds/amani101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AUish.<br/>Quest fic.</p><p>In which Loki finds himself enlisted on a quest he didn't want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Trial

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my first foray into my latest and favorite OTP. I hope I don't do the Marvel universe any disservice. Beware, I do suffer from multi-lingual grammar problems. So thank you for reading and hope you've enjoyed the story so far.

“What say you, Loki of Asgard?”

Despite the golden halls of the eternal realm being filled to the walls with its citizens, the silence that follows the All-father’s sentencing was deafening. And yet, Loki standing alone upon the accused pulpit remains unmoved by the proceedings. 

His infamous silver-tongue lifted not once in defense. His gifted lips opened not once to cajole his audience. And his soulful eyes reached out not once to plead for sympathy. For once, Loki the God of Lies and Mischief chose not to play the game.

The empty silence stretched on into awkwardness. 

Then unease settled into healthy suspicion amongst the crowd. Murmurs of dissent increased in volume as the tension rises. Yet Loki remains still as a statue carved in marble.

Unfazed, the royal family also remains rooted at their designated seating. Only their eyes shifted towards each other, to share their concerns for their estranged brother for the heir apparent and adopted son to the king and queen.

Unused to Loki missing his cue, Odin hesitates for another moment until he taps Gungnir against the floor to end the susurrus. The All-father opens his mouth to ask the question once more but the breathy echo Loki heard in his head was not Odin’s own.

Even then, that only caught a flicker of interest from Loki before it darted toward the still figure of the All-father. As amusing as it was, green orbs narrowed in annoyance before they scan the halls for confirmation and immediately turn their focus on the three wispy apparitions that appear so suddenly.

 

_“What say you, Loki of Asgard?”_

 

If the silence left by his non response was deafening before, the vacuum caused by their suspension of time, drowned his senses with its absence. 

At last, Loki attempted to speak but no sound emitted.

 

_“You need not speak,_  
_For us to hear._  
_Tell us then, Loki_  
_What say you?”_

 

Their voices, airy as the wind, volley between them like water droplets from leaf to leaf. The apparitions spoke in unison and yet not. But that was not the cause of the disconcerted crease between Loki’s brows. He’s met them before despite their cowl visage and yet can swear he’s never lays eyes upon them in his long, long life.

Relenting the mystery for now, Loki cautioned his mind and ventured a thought.

 

_“To borrow a leaf from my non-brother’s book, ‘I am not in a gaming mood’. What do you want from me?”_

 

His simple words brought forth the trio to shiver and a vibrant blue halo outlined their form.

 

_“Ah, I remember,_  
_The gaming prince,_  
_Who likes to cheat,_  
_Births a prancing stead did he.”_

 

Never would Loki have thought that old slander would be chanted once again in his adult life. _“What nonsense is this?”_

Their color shifts to white.

 

_“By your hand,_  
_Frozen treats,_  
_Lined city streets,_  
_Is that not what nonsense stands?”_

 

Loki couldn’t help but deadpan. _“Now that is new.”_

Then white shifts to burning red.

 

_“Ah, tis true,_  
_In all we knew,_  
_The battles won,_  
_And the foes that had lost,_  
_Garnered dues,_  
_And rendered sum,_  
_Left all but years,_  
_Whose life you have spared,_  
_The cost but none,_  
_And end with one.”_

 

Ah, divination. Loki should have known. _“By the Norns, you are they.”_

 

_“Clever, Godling_  
_Sapling,_  
_Tears you have won,_  
_But not clever enough.”_

 

The Norns were to the citizen of the eternal realms as the Aesir themselves were to the Midgardians. They were powerful beings, titans, giants and what not who tends the tree of life. Mere tales told to Aesir children to gloat of their heroic destiny, of their importance to the Nine Realms. So as much as the novelty of seeing the All-father, Thor, and the whole Aesir population muted by such powerful beings, Loki couldn’t suppress the cold chill of foreboding with their ramblings.

 

_“What do you want with me?”_

 

_“Aye, a task to seek,_  
_To collect from what is lost,_  
_What say you?”_

 

Deaden emerald eyes brighten for the briefest of moment with banked fire. A mockery of the brilliant gem it once was at the height of the God’s free fall. Bitterness lines the corner of his lips and disdain taints his words barely above a rasp. 

 

_“Have I a choice?”_

 

The red faded to a warmer hue before they continue. 

 

_“The branches of Yggdrasil have many paths,_  
_From which you take,_  
_Is yours to make.”_

 

Their rhetoric was giving even the God of Lies and Mischief a headache. 

 

_“What farce is this? Your presence may have postponed the All-father’s verdict, but I already know of my fate. Death’s lover waits at my final destination. There is no choice to be made.”_

 

_“Remain at the crossroads and the decision will be taken from you.”_

 

Enough was enough. Loki allowed his temper to flare for the briefest of moments.

 

_“Do not speak riddles to the Trickster God himself. Is not your issue of a task another mask road to redemption? Do not suppose I seek it or will value the lessons learn. I have nothing left worth to value or defend. Go spend your meddling elsewhere.”_

 

Then blinding white suffused the entire hall at a burst.

 

_“Silence, Loki of No-realm.”_

 

It was most unfortunate his wrath was nothing like the Norns. The forceful pressure of their raised voice in his head could have squashed him like a boot to an ant, an apt metaphor he was so fond of using back in Midgard.

 

_“Before the dawn of winter,_  
_Gather your mortal elements,_  
_And the quest for chaos shall begin.”_

 

With much unease and sudden urgency, Loki’s thoughts awash with frantic questions strive to form a coherent sentence but none made it to the Norns. In another spectacular flash of white they disappeared. 

Time resumes accordingly and the cacophony of alarm drew an uproar. For Loki, the Trickster God no more, fell crumbled onto the golden floor as if the strings of his life were cut.


	2. All-Father Knows Best

Odin All-father was very much aware in spite of the Norns exerting their divine intrusion upon Loki’s trial. In such times as these, their visits were never good but always a necessary evil. He’s met them once before, when he was all but known as Odin, son of Borr.

The Nine Realms was different then: so full of war and strife. He had truly believed these wild savage wastelands were destined to be conquered by his father and be inherited by him and his siblings.

It was on the eve of another campaign against another nameless enemy that Odin was visited by three ghostly apparitions in his chamber. They chanted in rhymes and riddles, hinted at glory untold awaiting him if he would but take it. By the Norns’ machination, Odin discovered the nature of his own cruelty by forsaking his own father in battle the very next day. The fool he was, interpreted their words at face value and realized too late the double edge sword of their verses. Odin had thought the power he sought was within him to yield, to be drawn forth upon seeing his own father in peril. In the end the power did manifest, but at too high a price. By then it was too late. Upon his father’s death, the sons of Borr gain all his powers and Odin the very throne he never imagined to covet in such a way.

But that was not all. A century later, another layer of the Norns’ verses revealed itself in the battle against Surtur. Despite Odin’s increased powers, he was no match with the fire demon from Muspelheim. It was only with the sacrifice of his brothers, Vili and Ve, did he gain their powers for his own as well. Altogether with the united essence from his father and his brothers, the power now known as Odinforce, he defeats Surtur and imprisons the fire demon deep within Midgard’s core. Grieved by their loss, Odin, now All-father, vowed to make peace and return order to the Nine Realms.

It has been millenniums since he’s heard of the Norns interfering once more. Regrettably, the fates have cast their nets on his son.

As soon as the Norns’ influence dissipates, Odin teleported before Loki’s prone form and immediately raise a hand to stop Thor and Frigga from rushing forward as well. The All-father turn his countenance to face Thor, never once taking his worried eye off Loki, and instructed his heir with a slight tilt of his chin. With a nod of obedience and a whirl of his red cape, Thor took off immediately into action and called forth his friends along with the royal guards to control the crowd.

Meanwhile, a grim faced Odin spared but a glance of assurance to his wife before he raised his left palm towards Loki and set about weaving a shroud of seidr covering his son. Bit by bit, golden threads resembling the finest spider silks materialized and painstakingly cross-stitched an intricate knot pattern over the fallen prince. 

By the time the golden halls were cleared, only the royal family remains. The silence wore on until upon completion of the spell, Odin stiffly closes his hand and lowers his arm before he allowed a sigh of relief to expel.

“What happened father?”

Concern thick in his voice, Thor was quick to break the fast of silence. He has long since directed all spectators to leave the premise and has quietly stood behind his mother with an arm wrapped around her shoulders. Whether it was to provide or receive comfort, he didn’t ponder, perhaps a bit of both.

Instead of answering though, Odin held out Gungnir towards Thor in which he accepts without question. Then the king presents an all too familiar gesture with his now empty palm for his queen to accompany him. Thus, with Frigga’s gentle form beside him, Odin calmly addresses her.

“What do your senses tell you, my queen?”

At the import of his words, Frigga acknowledges his request with a quick intake of breath then with caution did she speak.

“You know the extent of my powers.”

“Aye. However, we may need all the clues your skills can provide us in order to guide our wayward son. For I suspect, the verses the Norns have thus lay upon him may need it.”

True comprehension lifted her brows and widened her eyes. Frigga, despite all the inborn control bred into her, tried unsuccessfully to rein in her excitement and fear for Loki. For it was not everyday a seer was in the presence of her own patrons as they task her son and not know it.

Frigga takes but a moment to compose herself before she tilts her head in acquiescence to her king. She then slipped free of his grasp and with grace, removes her formal adornments one by one. Soon a cascade of soft gold ringlets framed her shoulders as her hair, ears, neck and wrists were lay bare. The only remaining item was a simple garnet ring, an ancient relic from the dawn of the Aesir, on her right mid finger.

Gathering up her skirts above her ankles, Frigga knelt gently down before her fallen son, took in and releases a deep breath before she promptly removes the ring. 

Immediately, the dampening effect dissipates and the influx of ethereal sensations electrifies her every pore. Despite her mental preparations, Frigga could never get use to the physical onslaught opening up her body upon channeling her patrons would demand. She could feel the world tree as if it was right before her. Blinding white in its intensity, her own irises bled off color and turn opaque. Thrumming with energy, pulses of blue envelops Frigga and words not of her own began to flow through her lips.

 

_“What do you want with me?”_

 

_“Aye, a task to seek,_  
_To collect from what is lost,_  
_What say you?”_

 

_“Have I a choice?”_

 

_“The branches of Yggdrasil have many paths,_  
_From which you take,_  
_Is yours to make.”_

 

_“What farce is this? Your presence may have postponed the All-father’s verdict, but I already know of my fate. Death’s lover waits at my final destination. There is no choice to be made.”_

 

_“Remain at the crossroads and the decision will be taken from you.”_

 

_“Do not speak riddles to the Trickster God himself. Is not your issue of a task another mask road to redemption? Do not suppose I seek it or will value the lessons learn. I have nothing left worth to value or defend. Go spend your meddling elsewhere.”_

 

_“Silence, Loki of No-realm.”_

 

_“Before the dawn of winter,_  
_Gather your mortal elements,_  
_And the quest for chaos shall begin.”_

 

The last of her recital lingers in the air with ominous overtones. Frigga’s blue aura begins to shimmer and fade. Thor, having seen his mother at work before, anticipates her collapse by stepping forward to catch her. However, her body began to shake once more with another pulse of energy, this time a golden brown radiance they’ve never seen before fills the room. 

 

_“Beware of stagnant waters,_  
_Drowning doves,_  
_Of rising tides,_  
_From eyes above,_  
_Calls forth the moon in blue,_  
_Enemy once mine,_  
_In solace divine,_  
_Shelter fools,_  
_Less chaos rules.”_

 

This time, Lady Frigga gave no warning when the path to Yggdrasil was torn from her extended senses due to pure exhaustion. A painful gasp pulls from her lips. Luckily, Thor’s anticipation paid off. She lay in his arms shivering, her breaths coming through in short pants. Sweat dotted her face and neck. Her pupils were dilated to black pools in deep set white. She reached blindly for her garnet ring, frantic in her gesture knowing she must have dropped it during her trance.

Though, she needn’t worry. Strong wizened hands spared Frigga of her search when her husband gently slid the ancient relic onto her mid finger once more.

She closed her eyes in relief and took a few longer moments to find her composure. When all was well and her sight has return, Frigga turns her thoughtful gaze towards her husband who mirrors her own.

“Did you intend to turn Loki into a tree until a citizen of Asgard cries for him?”

“Aye,” Odin replied, only mildly curious at her odd question and ignoring Thor’s quizzical brow rising in shock at Loki’s intended punishment. “To teach him one of many lessons in compassion and forgiveness.”

“Ah, I see.” 

Frigga’s attempt in continuing the seriousness was lost the moment her lips threaten to rise at the corners.

“He would have been release in less than a Midgardian year, my king.”

“Hm.”

Odin shakes his head fondly when he turns to look at Loki but was promptly reminded of the verses his wife had recited. It was best to enjoy the peace while it last. There was much to be done.


	3. Nine Realms Hang on a Balance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please pardon me for the brevity of this chapter. I fear that if I were to NOT post it, it would probably deter me to write more. In other words, after suffering from the lack of encouragement and personal mental block on this fic, I have return with renewed interest after watching the Sword Art Online anime. 
> 
> This chapter will initially draw heavily from THOR: The Dark World Prelude comic in setting the scene. There will be some changes and merges of the comics and MCU. Unless of course there continue to be no interest in this fic whatsoever. I’ll give it a few more chapters before I call it quits, I suppose. So here goes.

Illusory peace lasted but a month.

Ever since Loki’s fall, words spread as the balance of power shifted. Chaos like poisonous sap seeped throughout the branches of Yggdrasil and to the reaches beyond. With the Bifrost incomplete still and the reservoir of dark energy drained, the nine realms suffered on while Asgard could only watch and wait. The foregone duration to mend the bridge now measured in deaths and destruction. 

Leaderless and their world torn asunder, the giants of Jotunheim withdraws further into themselves, spurning all communication even as buried strife renewed with their neighbors. For the troll kings long have coveted the Dwarven forges of Nidavellir and knows none will come to King Eitri’s aide while the Badoon tribes mirrored their greed and bloodlust with their own civil war. The same can be said as the marauders amass near Vanaheim while at the outer rim, treaty breaks amongst the Kree and Nova Empire.

And yet, there are worst things.

Though Heimdall’s sight can see far and wide, it was his ears that heard whispered rumors of the Dokkalfar remerging from the deepest shadows. If this be true, then eternal Darkness will surely follow.

* * *

Asgard was done waiting.

The procession of warriors led by the Crown Prince began from the barracks and marched down the wide thoroughfare of the busy streets. From all around, the citizens of Asgard lined their paths, their cheers deafening though the parade remain a somber one. Not one smile was returned by the warriors, their eyes remain resolute towards the Bifrost. For this day, they would protect and honor their oaths. For this day, all would fight and not all would live. For this day, Vahalla awaits.

All this was relayed to the second Prince, though he claims the title no more. This news fell on deaf ears as Loki sat in the corner of his cell block as in days past, observing all and seeing nothing. 

Frigga has visited many times before, though in secret conjuring his image upon her cauldron of fire before boldness eventually sets in. Her projection flickers under the harsh light of the cell block. Even as she initially appeared before him, Loki gave no acknowledgement of her presence. His expression had drawn a blank and his gaze far off. Lost, mayhap be the word Frigga would have chosen if not for the irony of it. For how can one be lost if they are finally home?

Nevertheless, that is how she found him, day in and day out. Unkempt and inactive. Never changing, never moving unless necessity dictates his movements. At least, that was something. He fared well compare to the sunken-eyed sallow creature Thor brought back. 

She had expected fire and venom to be spewed from his lips once they were release from his spellbinding manacles. None came. Even Odin was surprised by the lack of hostility, though her husband may not have shown it. Granting, if it were so, Loki’s sentencing would have been far worse. Frigga knew Odin would have responded in kind. Harsh words once spoken in the heat of the moment would not be unheard and all love they once had for each other would be lost. The All-father would have no choice but to exact the severest of punishments for Loki’s transgression. Death would have been the final forfeit. That course she would strive to alter for all the wealth in Asgard to prevent.

Yet, the Queen rather not have an automaton for a son. Nor for him to be behind bars for that matter.

_“Before the dawn of winter,_  
_Gather your mortal elements,_  
_And the quest for chaos shall begin.”_

Oh, how those words haunted her. Frigga had argued countless hours with Odin in its interpretation. Regardless, the King in him would not and could not relent the double edge sword of the Norns' verses. His final argument: Loki’s involvement could hurl the universe faster into Ragnarok. And his resolve hardened to a solution such as this: imprisonment for all eternity.

If that be so, the All-father has underestimated the power of a mother’s love.

With one last lingering phantom caress of her hand on her son's cheek, Frigga’s sitting projection from him flickered out. It was several moments more, before Loki’s own refocused gaze lingered at where she sat and hissed in sudden disgust at the red orbs reflected back from the shiny surface.

Were he not deserving to suffer such self-loathing, the monster he saw would no longer plague this world or the next.


	4. Baptism by Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too short, but unfortunately not too long either. I hope the pacing is good on this one. Also, the first statement from Natasha is directly quoted from the comics. It veers from there afterwards. Lastly, not betaed and mostly likely editing will be revisited later. Thank you for reading.

Asgard – Months later

The once Loki of Asgard would have found amusement in the tales and exploits set by the Norns, especially when it highlights the ironic yet moral lessons of the day. Wherein most Aesir would find adventure, justice, and honor in these fables, the trickster would see them for what they were: the ultimate manipulation by beings with much greater power. These so-called fates spinning their stories of entrapment to ensnare the witless hero in pitting his might against an ill-favored foe. Always a monster, verbally painted in gore and tainted with evil so foul one would think they were motherless creatures sprung from the void. 

He'd seen the void. Or rather, felt its confining vast darkness to the bones. There were no such creatures. Adrift as he was, utter silence pervades one's senses. Always falling; seeing nothing; hearing nothing; feeling nothing. Time, meant nothing.

It was night and day compared to the Isle of Silence. Loki had realized now how lenient Odin Once-father was in his sentencing from his youthful days. His past punishments felt trivial compared to that vast expanse. In some ways, Loki preferred the void to this. At least in that, pain meant little when one is void of everything.

Make no mistake. Loki did not regret the words he spewed before the Norns. He is no hero for them to cast in their play. Were he to pen their asinine rhetoric now, he would end their script with this:

_Let thy quest expire and rot,_  
_For Loki of No-Realm cares not one jot._

* * *

The Norns always did have a sense of humor. 

Not even an hour later, the first brand to appear on Loki’s left wrist seared with such intensity, it wrench a ear-splitting scream from the trickster that reverberated throughout Asgard’s dungeon. Nearby, a pair of patrolling guards’ step faltered before they soon rushed to the second Prince’s cell block to investigate as other prisoners close by clamored as near as their barrier would allow spying for themselves. What they found would cause any less seasoned warrior, notorious or otherwise, to retch at the sight of his blue flesh melting away.

Still no one took action as they gawk either in shock or in fear as such a gruesome scene unfolds. Barely recovering his composure did a second brand seared at the Prince’s neck. The cracked scream that tore from him sent even chills down the cruelest of prisoners who heard it. There were more than a few who wish to unheard such terror. And those who could bear no witness began circulating rumors of torture being implemented as they speak. Even the few guards posted at the closest entrance came to investigate. They too were stun into silence, though one who had fell for the trickster’s schemes in years past grew wary at the picture painted before him.

It wasn’t until the third brand manifested sight unseen beneath the Prince’s clothes accompanied by his silent scream did one of the guard heeded action.

“Send for a healer! Make haste! Make haste! The Queen must hear of this!”

* * *

Waverly, Iowa – 1:23 PM

If one were to ask any agent worth his salt, Clint Barton’s idea of a safe house would not meet S.H.I.E.L.D. standards. Despite the measures he took to deflect and scramble any type of surveillance by living off the grid and creating a dead zone perimeter around his homestead, the simple fact that he included his family in the vicinity made it all the more dangerous to implement. However, to Clint, his farm isn’t just a regular safe house, it was his safe haven. It was a place for him to leave the life of an agent outside the perimeter and be the dad to his kids and the husband to his wife.

It was what he wanted with Nat all those years ago, long before the Avengers, Prague or Budapest. Their torrid love affair ended as quickly as it began. They were kindred spirit who sought different endings. Clint wanted a family, while Natasha… she never did answer him. These days, Clint opted to stay away until S.H.I.E.L.D. or the Avengers have need of his particular skill sets. As for Natasha, her teaming up with Captain America himself should prove interesting to say the least. 

For now though, his idle thoughts would have to wait. The woods wouldn’t chop themselves as his wife reminds him of his honey-do list every time Clint has an extended leave of absence.

“Huh— here ya— you ga— go, dad.”

Cooper scrambles to carry the heavy chunk of wood towards the chopping block for him. His son’s developing muscles struggled with a bit of effort, mindful of dropping it on his toes. The last one attempt had been a near miss. At the last few steps, Cooper practically half tosses and half drops the wood block down. 

Clint witnessed all this while trying not to smile like a loon as he unbuttons the cuffs of his flannel shirt and folds it up. Upon finishing, he reached out to rough up his son’s short hair with affection before commenting, “Not bad, kid. Not bad.”

In all seriousness, Cooper grabbed his dad’s hand to push it away. His cheeks puffing up with self-indignation, “It’s nothing. That was the smallest one. The next one will be way big—woah! Cool tattoo, dad! Let me see, let me see!”

Clint didn’t know what his son was babbling about. A tattoo in his line of business would be too noticeable. It must have been an imprint or dirt from something he worked on earlier in the barn. However, he couldn’t even get his hands back to have a look for himself. Cooper had grabbed both of them with his soft pudgy hands, inspecting every which way.

After a minute or two, the requisite amount of time to indulge his son, Clint gently pries his son’s hands away then shakes his head while saying, “It’s probably noth—what the fuh—! Uh, yeah. Hey, Cooper. I heard your mom calling, why don’t you go see what she wants.”

“But… I didn’t hear any—“

“Just go, Cooper. Please?”

Clint heard his son mumbling something under his breath when he left. He would have chided the poor boy except his attention was still caught on the mysterious black mark scratched on the inside of his left wrist. It was about three by two inches in length and width. He tried rubbing it off with his other hand, not even a smudge. After a few attempts with a bit of saliva and shirttail later, he gives up in favor of inspecting it instead. Under direct sunlight, at a certain angle, Clint notices that it wasn’t even black, but a shade of green. Then, when he traces the pattern with a finger, gold shimmers at its wake.

“Ah fuck.”

And instantly regrets the suspicious connection his memories just made. 

* * *

Brooklyn, New York – 2:34 PM

"My work for S.H.I.E.L.D. has taken me all over the world...and that is, without a doubt, not just the best milk shake in Brooklyn...but on the whole darn planet," declares Natasha Romanoff after she licks the last bit of cream from the end of her straw.

Sitting across from her on the other side of the booth, Steve Rogers, America’s golden boy and a Brooklyn native only grins and offers, “If you like that, their apple pie is even better.”

Her eyes slid to half-mast as she sights their target from the corner before responding with a flirtatious smirk, “Don’t tempt me. If I can’t chase after our detail because I’m too full, you can debrief Fury on why we failed without me.”

Upon seeing her subtle signal on the table he turns around and flashes the nearest waiter down and negotiates instead, “Why don’t l order a slice and you can have a taste. But I warn you, one bite only.”

When their detail arrives wearing a pair of glasses they hadn’t seen him wore before, they both smiled brightly at the hidden camera. 

Natasha presses back in her seat and decides to up the ante, “Give me half and I’ll raise you another chocolate milk shake.”

Steve accepts her raise of the pot with a nod and places his order to the overly sweaty waiter who’s clenching his pen and notepad a tad too tightly, “A slice of apple pie and another chocolate milk shake, please.”

The nervous waiter scribbles something down and made to leave. Natasha tracks their detail back to the kitchen and sees the waiter talking hurriedly on his phone as he passes through the storage door.

Smiling sweetly beforehand, Natasha conveys her wager quietly, “I’d say we give him a five minutes delay before we hightail out of here.” 

“No apple pie?” He didn’t sound too disappointed.

“Maybe later.”

 

After dropping a couple of tens on the table, they both walked out the diner with Natasha looping her arm through Steve’s. It wasn’t until they were a block down the sidewalk that her phone rings. 

Spying the caller ID, Natasha casually leans her head on Steve’s shoulder and answers the call in a hush voice, “Not now Clint, we’re currently baiting a trap. What’s up?”

“I’ll make it quick then, have you notice any weird tattoos on your body lately?”

It was a testament to the Black Widow’s professionalism that she took the non sequitur in stride while she whispers literally sweet nothing in Steve Roger’s ear as he immediately changes course to a discrete alley two blocks down.

“Can’t say I have. How recent?”

“Oh, a little over ten minutes ago.”

Looking both ways, Steve takes a hold of her hand as they cross the street. Five others follow suit. Natasha smiles at Steve and continues her conversation.

“Is it contagious?”

“Let’s say it appeared like magic.”

Her steps only pause for a split second before they continue to carry her to the target area.

“I’ll call you back.”

“Happy hunting.”

Drawing near to the mouth of the alley, Natasha drew Steve’s head down and moves in as if she’s brushing a kiss on his neck before dragging him into the alley.

 

To the five onlookers following them, their luck couldn’t have been better. Taking out both Captain America and the Black Widow with their civilian pants down, caught unaware would definitely put the Cadre Group on the map as far as mercenaries go. Armed and ready, they rush into the alley with the element of surprise.

And didn’t know what hit them.

Steve’s round shield knocked out the first gunman and bounced off the chest of another, sending the assailant back landing amongst a pile of black garbage bags. Upon catching his shield two more dropped to the ground after having a taste of the Widow’s bite, not before they suffered a few blows to the chest and groin.

When both rounded their attention to the last gunman, the nervous waiter at the restaurant no less had his gun wavering on both of them. Natasha couldn’t help but rolled her eyes. Steve however took the matter quite seriously.

“Son, either shoot at one of us now and have the other knock you down or surrender quietly and tell us where Dr. Sana Armanat is. You’re call.”

The waiter didn’t wait to be told twice. He dropped the gun and raised both hands above his head.

 

After successfully extracting the Nobel Prize winning professor from the Cadre Group and dismantling their headquarters with a group of S.H.I.E.L.D agents lead by Brock Rumlow, Steve and Natasha returned to the diner. As they split a slice of apple pie and a large chocolate milk shake, Steve politely follows up on Natasha’s earlier conversation with Clint Barton. The one sided snippet of conversation he overheard did make him curious though Steve rather not pry.

“So how’s Mr. Barton doing these days? Is he okay?”

As fiercely as she took down the mercenaries earlier, Natasha didn’t relent her prize until all the apple pie was devoured. Steve didn’t even put a fork in to intercept, fearing her wrath. It was only when she drop the utensil down on the empty plate did she deem to respond.

“He said he caught something. And it’s contagious apparently.”

Her expression didn’t correlate with her deadpan delivery; Steve didn’t know what to make of it.

“Um, I hope he’s okay.”

Then she tilted her head to the side and eyed his neck with a sudden sharp interest.

“You should worry about yourself. Steve, you have half an arrow mark on your neck.”

“What!?”


	5. A Gram of Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, inspiration comes in spurts. My apologies for the brevity.

Meanwhile back in Asgard…

“Milady!”

Frigga immediately drops her wringing hands and approaches the healer in few short steps. Much to her continuous dismay, the image of her son, half-naked, branded, chained and muzzled like a rabid animal as he lay heavily sedated on the soul forge table, tore at the core of her maternal heart. Only a cooling salve has been applied to the affected areas thus far while the healer determines what further damage the wrath of the Norns has wrought.

It was no guesswork on her part that it was their doing. The runes on each of Loki’s limbs and torso spelled out the quest in grisly warning. It confirmed her suspicion that the expiration drew near and ignited a fear within her should Loki fail to begin his task, for her patrons do not issue them lightly. It was pure folly to delay the inevitable as she had bear witness far too many during her lifetime.

“What do you see, Astrid?”

The healer spared but a glance from her charge to note the clear distress voiced by the queen before she returns her attention back to the soul forge’s interface. Though her words and tone may seem detached to those unused to her ways, the healer’s eyes bespoke of compassion and warmth for her charge, “I have nursed him to health ever since he received his first cut from sword practice, though it has been a long while since my Prince has need of my aide…thus, I do not wish to alarm. There is recent evidence that he suffered greatly prior to the burns, milady.”

Though it displeased her to remember the fondness Thor’s accounting was on the _‘Battle of New York’_ , Frigga gave a quick nod in confirmation before she explained neatly, “Aye, Thor spoke of the mild manner scholar whom transfigured into a green beast and thrashed Loki most violently in order to subdue him.”

At the time, Loki seemed none worse for wear, lest he hid it well out of spite and pride. It would not be the first or the last. Frigga wrings her hands together in further consternation, “Has he not healed properly since his retrieval from Midgard?”

Unfortunately, Astrid’s reply did little to quell the tautness within her chest.

“Nay, ‘twas not those injuries I speak of. I do not know how to word such atrocity, so as not to…very well, there are signs of dissection, milady.”

A gasp escapes from the queen mother before she covers her mouth with a shaky hand as the onset of tears threaten to spill by what was left unsaid. How wrong she was to assume the depths of Loki’s involvement with the Chitauri. Had she known when she scribed for his whereabouts that such horror was committed upon his person, no force could have prevented her to launch a rescue! Oh, what pain must he has suffered?

However, upon eying the firm press of the healer’s lips, there was more unsettling things to be heard. Frigga takes a fortifying breath before nodding as she asked, “What else?”

The healer takes but a moment to produce the expanded image of the brand on Loki’s wrist in illustration, “Twas nothing simple about the brands as I first thought. In fact, tis spreading and will consume all flesh and bones till nothings left.”

A sob did escape Frigga then and she couldn’t stop the helpless plea to her patrons, “Is this to be my son’s fate? To writhe in pain until slow ember scorches him to ash and dust before my very eyes?”

As if in response to her plight, quick on the heels of the queen’s lament Astrid attempts to sooth her worries, “All is not lost, milady. There is a binding spell weaved into the firebrand, six to be exact.”

With a quick intake of breath as hope revives back in her eyes, Frigga steps closer to her dear friend and beseech the healer to continue, “Then the effects are reversible?”

“Aye, though not for long,” the healer urged as she caught the resolute determination upon her majesty’s eyes.

* * *

At the throne room, Odin All-father was attending one of many laborious reports from the quartermaster concerning the current state of affairs when several wards from the weapon’s vault were triggered. With a growl of disgust curling his upper lip, the king dismisses his attendant then reaches out a hand to call forth Gungnir to materialize. In a flash of blinding white light, he appears before the opened doors of the weapons vault only to cause quite a stir with the sentinels standing guard. The Einherjars immediately stood at attention and saluted their king despite the twin set of confusion mirrored on their countenance.

The scowl on the All-father’s face deepens further as wizened hands still with the grip strength of his youth, wields the legendary spear with a flourish as he charge in, inspiring the guards to follow suit. Odin was prepared for many things, even a reenactment of a scene not long ago. What he hadn’t expected was the silhouette of his wife cast in shadows as she stood beside a column within the vault. His one eye narrowed as he signals the guards to close the doors and block the entry.

Though confusion still marred their brows, the sentinels did as they were told and stood to bear witness to the unprecedented event.

“Surrender, Loki. I shall not ask again.”

“Tis good to see you, husband.”

Odin grits his teeth upon hearing the familiar greeting under false guise, “You are no wife of mine, trickster. I knew it would take nothing but time for your schemes to be made apparent. Tis clever of you to use your own mother as means to escape your cell and bypass the Destroyer, however do not imagine this will stall my judgment. My mercy does not rein twice. For your transgression to steal from the weapons vault, I, Odin All-father hereby—”

“What do you think I have stolen?”

It irked the king further to hear the imposter’s replicated amusement more so than the interruption.

“What?”

The unhurried atmosphere projected by the other did little to improve Odin’s humor. It would seem the short duration in confinement was enough to lift Loki’s unlikely passivity. Though the strategist within him knew it was unwise to listen to the dissent his son was sowing, Odin could not relent the nagging feeling therein lies the truth somehow. 

“Of all the destructive relics my king has hoarded throughout the years, what possible use could I have with this?”

The figure departs from the shadows while Odin takes a step back in counterbalance. In reflex, the king raise Gungnir to fire at a moments notice until he saw what was held firmly within the grip of the imposter’s hand. There, with the sharp tip pointed towards the floor, the gleam of metal shown on a blade he’d long forgotten. Wariness warred against curiosity, with the latter eventually succeed as the victor.

“What trickery is this?”

Loki may not be Frigga born but he most certainly picked up more than her tricks. It disturbed Odin by how much when his son spoke at ease with her visage, “This marks the first occasion you have raise a weapon upon me. Would you be judge and jury to rid of your queen? Ah, I see that I have captured your curiosity. Allow me to sustain it. I remember the story you have told me once upon a time. The Sword of Gram held by Sigurd himself, the first hero of Asgard. As Mjolnir is for Thor, so is this unto Loki.”

Then with a flick of practice ease, the hand that wielded many a dagger swung the blade to test its weight and balance before it was held as if for presentation: a firm hand on the pommel whilst the sharp tip rest on the other palm.

“Is this not my birthright should I be worthy? If I am Loki, your wayward son?”

For some reason or other, this bold demonstration of defiance broke the last vestige of Odin’s patience in playing Loki’s game. He lashed out without thought, “Your birthright was to die! As a child; cast out onto a frozen rock. If I had not taken you in you would not be here now to mock me so.”

Alas, the mood now lost, said imposter flinches at the harsh words and sadden eyes most reminiscent of his wife, guise or not, tugs at his heartstring.

“Even to mine ears, they are too cruel for a child you once given love and guidance. Am I for the axe? Or shall I suffer Gram’s test to prove that your suspicions are unfounded?”

It gave Odin a moment’s pause as he second guessed Loki’s motive. Gram’s test was not to be taken lightly for the cursed sword has a mind of its own, very much like Mjolnir. As it were, the more severe the lie, the deadlier the affect. Thus, when the palm upholding the tip formed a tight grip, the king held his breath in suspension. The sharpness was undeniable when immediately upon contact, crimson blood pooled at the edge and overflowed. The imposter’s glamour proven to be no glamour at all, remains.

“I am Frigga Skadidottir, wife of Odin and mother to Thor and Loki. There, are you satisfied?”

Weariness sets in upon Odin’s relief. It taxed his reserves to gauge the purpose of his wife to arrange such theatrics. He waves a hand for the guards to leave them be. They remain staring at each other until the clang of the closed doors confirms their privacy.

“My queen, what is the meaning of this? If you wish to present your case, a summoning would have suffice.”

The contrition on her countenance lasted but a moment before Frigga pursed her lips and stated her cause, “Loki’s injuries are grave and tis no counterfeit. He has but until the winter solstice to collect his mortals. If he fails, the Norns’ curse upon him shall be irreversible.”

Though this development was certainly new, Odin was more concern with the continuous loss of his wife’s life blood at present, “Could you please release your hand from the blade? I believe you.”


End file.
